poco a poco
by decrescence
Summary: An anthology of 500-word drabbles, one for each of the months in which they, little by little, fall in love. Drabble 02/12: coffee shop blues — they meet again in a coffee shop. SasuSaku. AU.
1. first meetings

**oo1****.** _jan._

* * *

They meet in the midst of a cold winter, when the air is thick with falling snowflakes, the neighborhood children's laughter, and an icy chill easily diminished by a cup of hot tea.

They meet by pure chance, by coincidence, but there are some who would call such a thing "_destiny_," and it is your choice if you believe it to be.

She is dressed in faded-wash jeans and a warm, scarlet coat, the pink of her cherry blossom tresses hidden beneath a woolen beret that kisses the tops of her ears. As she passes by a man in a dark gray sweater, she misses the opportunity to catch a glimpse of his face since it is mostly covered by a thick, navy scarf, but she thinks nothing of it and meanders past without looking back at him.

Her knee-high boots leave imprints against the snow while she walks, and after a half dozen or so steps, she peers over her shoulder to admire her paint strokes against the beautiful white canvas, and that is when she realizes that the stoic male with the blue scarf draped around his neck is still there, leaning against the tall lamppost at the corner of the street.

He is not watching her, and in fact, his attention seems to be focused on somewhere far away, in another world perhaps, but he senses her gazing at him, and they lock eyes for a second that seems to last an eternity.

The girl's already rosy cheeks redden, and she turns away, discretely slipping her hands into the jacket's shallow pockets. She takes a few more steps but falters, suddenly feeling awkward as his stare climbs the ladder of her spine.

Although somewhere in the back of her mind, there is a small piece that wants to experience his ebony irises—their color is so vividly black, and she can tell, even from such a distance away—just one more time, she does not turn around.

Instead, she quickly moves forward like a leaf in the wind, except much, much less gracefully, and when her feet tangle together, she trips over her boots and falls into a considerable amount of snow. Her face tingles, her body numbs, and her cheeks warm once again.

After several moments of self-pitying, she shifts her position so that she lies on her back and looks up to see dark hair that falls asymmetrically, eyebrows knit together in skepticism, rosy cheeks identical to her own. A syllable that sounds rather like "_tch_" escapes the male's mouth, but he still leans down towards her, frays of his scarf tickling her nose as he does.

"You're a graceful one, aren't you?"

Then he takes hold of her hand, and a small, timid smile blossoms on her lips at the gesture because it feels like a greeting, like the beginning of something new, and she can't help but hope that it is.


	2. coffee shop blues

**oo2.** _feb._

* * *

He sees her for the second time but a month later.

It being the day of homemade chocolates, flower bouquets, and love letters, he attempts to steer clear of the handholding couples loitering down the streets and seeks shelter in the nearest café, one he just so happens to visit quite often.

Slowly, he enters the shop and makes his way to the ordering station, and as he asks for a cup of black coffee, (bitter, the way he likes it) a glimpse of peony pink catches his eye, and the long-haired cashier has to stutter "_e-excuse me, sir_" several times before he turns back to give her a few wrinkled paper bills.

Minutes later, he is seated in the back corner of the café, wisps of steam rising from his cerulean mug, curling, and disappearing before him. He leans against the leche colored wall and sighs, skimming the crowd.

Couples occupy almost every booth in the shop, kissing over coffee, fingers intertwined, but at one table, a lone person sits, fiddling with the ends of her pinkpink_pink_ hair absentmindedly.

It is when he sees her that he realizes he recognizes her, he knows her, and he has been subconsciously looking for her all this time. Not just from before, when he caught sight of her in his peripheral vision, but from the moment they met, he has been waiting to see her again.

And he cringes, because such thoughts are incredibly rare for the likes of Uchiha Sasuke, and they are something he never imagined his mind was capable of formulating.

_I'm coming down with something, _he thinks to himself and scowls, leaning forward to take a sip from his mug. He nearly chokes on his next thought—an absurd thought indeed—but composes himself quickly enough to notice the girl's features bending into a frown.

Besides himself, she is the only one who sits alone in the café, and perhaps that is why she seems upset, but for a reason beyond his comprehension, it bothers him not knowing the exact cause. If anyone asked him why he cared, he wouldn't have been able to answer because he simply _did_, and that should be enough explanation.

Then, without knowing, without choosing to do so, he stands up and approaches her.

"Hello," Sasuke hears himself say, and she looks up at him, surprised.

"Aah—" She says, and for a second, he can't help but hope she remembers him. "Oh, it's you, isn't it? You're that _guy_…"

A soft smirk crosses his face, and he nods.

"Um, I guess I should thank you for before…" She begins but trails off, her face lit with the same rosy blush of their first encounter.

"Uchiha Sasuke." He finishes for her, and she smiles.

"I'm Sakura," She says and holds out her hand. "Haruno Sakura."

The corners of his lips rise as he grasps it.

_Haruno Sakura. _

_What a beautiful name._


End file.
